


Epiphany

by Elizabeth_Woodville



Category: Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Based on a Stage Production I Was Part of, Epilogue, F/M, M/M, Shakespeare- I'm Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2020-12-07 23:56:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20984552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth_Woodville/pseuds/Elizabeth_Woodville
Summary: January 6, 1957. Viola and Sebastian reunite in the wake of their misadventures in Illyria.





	Epiphany

It took awhile for everything to settle down.

Viola strongly suspected it would take a while longer.

She was sitting at the club. She realized after the fact that she probably should have put on something more presentable than her men’s clothes, but she had enough on her mind without that.

“Viola?”

Her heart skipped a beat hearing that name after so long. And to hear his voice.

“Sebastian,” she said with a smile. 

He set a plate down in front of her.

“Is this---?”

“Wedding cake,” he replied. “You know, it’s been hours, and I still can’t quite piece together what happened.”

“What’s there to tell?”

It was strange to think it was in this very nightclub that she’d met the Countess. She could still see it, Olivia, veiled and somber, in her velvet cape, walking into the room. Feste, with his feet on the table, Malvolio and his thugs trailing behind.

As it was, Feste was at the microphone now, the singer crooning beside him. He was wearing a glaringly patterned smoking jacket, the thugs were now drunkenly cavorting with the sailors in the far corner.

“How’s Orsino?”

“What about Orsino?”

“You served him all this time. What’s he like?”

“He’s… he’s a good man. He’s kind and devoted and---” 

“And he loved Olivia?”

“Yes.”

“And she loved you?”

“Yes.”

“And that fop I quarrelled with earlier, the one Olivia’s uncle seemed so fond of? He sought after Olivia too?”

“Yes.”

“And who the hell is Malvolio?”

Viola had to laugh at that. “Well, that’s a whole other story.”

“Well, we’ve got plenty of time.” He took a sip of his drink. “In any case, I’m glad to see you’re doing alright.”

“Then you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.” She smiled wanly.

“Tell me about her,” he said.

“Who, Olivia?”

“Yes.”

“Your wife is quite the character.”

“I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

“I suppose,” she answered, taking a sip of her scotch.

“Since when do you drink scotch?”

She didn’t know how to tell him that she’d first ordered it in tribute to him. 

“A man’s drink,” she said. “That’s what you always said.”

“That’s what Dad used to say,” Sebastian said softly.

Viola inhaled sharply, looking away from her brother.

“Vi,” he murmured. “He’d be proud of you. So would Mom.”

“Proud of me? For what, Sebastian? For-- for dressing like a man for four months? For trying my damnedest to forget where I came from? And who I was?”

“Vi---”

“I’m not who they wanted me to be, and you know that! Christ, Mother  _ hated  _ me for it! What would she say if she saw her only daughter, the one she raised to be a  _ lady,  _ a  _ homemaker,  _ a  _ wife,  _ dressed in drag, drinking hard liquor, smoking cigars?”

“The same thing she’d say if she saw her only son shacking up with another man.”

Viola stopped abruptly. “Sebastian---”

“You can’t tell a soul, Viola,” he said, sounding desperate now. “Please, you know what could happen.”

“You love him.”

Sebastian froze. “Yes. I… I suppose I do.” He cleared his throat, motioning for the waiter to bring him a drink. “But that’s no matter.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“This mess. You… you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”

“You’re right. I’d probably be dead or in jail instead of living a life of luxury with Illyrian nobles.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, smacking his arm. 

He chuckled. “Do you remember when we were very young, and you’d insist on wearing my play clothes?”

Viola rolled her eyes. “Fashion was never my priority, Seb. I’m sure your darling wife will have much to say about it.”

“Wife,” he said. “A wife, and I don’t know the first thing about her.”

“Ask Feste,” Viola replied, gesturing to the man on the stage, who was now twirling the lounge singer.

“The fool seems to think he’s Frankie Valli.”

“He thinks he’s all Four Seasons.”

“What can you do?”

Viola shook her head, running a hand through her short hair. “Who’s to say? I feel like I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”

“Well, you know what they say about Twelfth Night. Up is down and right is wrong,” Sebastian replied. “Trouble is, once everything’s been turned upside down, it never settles down quite the way it was.”

“Like a snow globe.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Viola smiled. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“I missed you, Vi,” he said quietly. “Christ, it… I just…”

“I know.”

And she did know. 

Her brother didn’t have her gift with words, but even she couldn’t describe the aching, wrenching pain of having lost her other half. She gripped his hand tightly.

“We’ll settle somehow, Seb,” she murmured. “We always do.” 

Sebastian grinned, the ghost of his familiar cheeky self returning. “Happy Birthday, Viola.”

“Happy Birthday, Sebastian.”

They sat there like that, drinking in the music and each other’s company until long after the bills had been paid, glasses emptied, and the club had cleared for the night. 


End file.
